Skating
by Micayasha
Summary: Irvine, Squall, an empty skating rink, and different ways of keeping warm. .:POST-GAME:.


"C'mon, Squall, it's not that hard."

Squall glared fiercely at his lover, who was smiling in a coaxing manner - the way one might look to convince a small child to eat his vegetables. "Why do I need to know how to skate?" he snapped. "I highly doubt any of my missions will involve _ice skating._"

"But it's _fun,_" Irvine insisted. "We've got free time until dawn tomorrow. What else are you going to do between now and then - polish your gunblade? Practice glaring in front of the mirror?"

Squall glared harder.

"We could get hot chocolate, afterwards," Irvine added. "There's nothing like a big cup of hot chocolate to warm you up."

"Or," Squall countered, his glare dissolving to make way for an expression that was entirely to amiable to be genuine, "we could just not get cold in the first place."

"You skated once, when we were little," Irvine said, ignoring Squall's suggestion. "This pond near the orphanage was frozen completely solid, one winter, and so Matron rented us skates and took us out there to teach us. You were really good at it, actually - faster than the rest of us, and you only fell once. Me - I kept slipping and sliding. You held my hand to keep me steady."

"I did?"

"And you never _really_ forget how to skate," Irvine continued. "Nobody uses this rink - everyone's too busy training or studying. We can have it all to ourselves."

Squall looked dubiously at the pair of black skates that Irvine held by the laces. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered, shaking his head. His irritation was slightly eased by the genuine happiness in Irvine's triumphant grin.

Squall's first step onto the ice was wobbly and uncertain, and he stood in place feeling as though moving an inch might send him tumbling to the cold, unforgiving surface below. Irvine, who had stepped onto the ice just behind Squall, swooped around to stand in front of him, his stance casual and relaxed - not worried in the least about falling or tripping.

"You all right?" Irvine asked. He extended his hand as an anchor but Squall's pride wouldn't let him take it.

"Fine," Squall said stiffly.

"Okay." It was clear from his tone of voice and the way he trailed off that Irvine didn't quite believe him, but wasn't ready to contradict a defensive, frustrated Squall Leonhart.

Irvine skated backwards a few strokes and held out a hand to beckon. "See if your feet remember what to do. Push one foot forward and lift the other one up, then switch feet, but keep your weight - "

"Shit!" Squall stumbled, wobbled, and then fell over on his side, wincing with pain as the ice, hard as rock, connected with his hip and shoulder.

" - centered." Irvine winced with him, skating over and crouching down. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Squall repeated, more of a growl this time - embarrassed as hell, probably, Irvine guessed.

"Lean your body a bit to the opposite side of the pushing foot," Irvine said, rising and helping Squall to his feet. "You sure you don't want me to hold your hand until you get the hang of it?"

"I'm fine," Squall said again, but there was a bit of a softening to his angry eyes that said he appreciated the concern, even if it _did_ insult his pride.

"Try again, then." Irvine glided a ways away once more.

The blades of his skates didn't seem to want to grip the ice at all - they kept sliding to the side or too far back when he switched feet, and Squall only made it a few strokes before he fell once more.

"Never really forget, huh?" he grumbled, snorting at Irvine's sheepish grin.

But he was _Squall Leonhart_ - Commander of Balamb Garden and world-saving hero. He hadn't let a time-traveling, megalomaniacal witch beat him, and so neither would a pair of skates and an ice rink.

By the time he was confident enough to make a full lap of the rink, there were very few parts of him that didn't ache with fresh bruises, but there was something about the exercise - whether it was the endorphins or the refreshing bite of the cold in his cheeks and nose or the triumph of having defeated the ice - that sent a rush of euphoria through his tired body.

"See?" Irvine called as Squall picked up speed, even daring to make a few crossovers as he rounded a bend at the short side of the oval rink. "You didn't forget! Normal beginners couldn't go that fast without crashing into a wall!"

"The problem isn't going fast enough," Squall admitted. "I don't think we've gone over how to _stop!_"

Stopping, for an inexperienced skater, as it turned out, involved deliberately running into the closest solid object - which was unfortunate for Irvine, who was a competent skater but in no way equipped to keep his footing with Squall crashing into him at full speed.

Lying on the ice, his backside aching and the wind knocked out of him, Irvine struggling to get his breath back. Squall lay on top of him, propped up with his hands on either side of Irvine's face.

Every bit of him aching, his hands stinging from the cold surface beneath his palms, and a winded lover beneath him, Squall did the only thing he really could do in a situation like this.

He started to laugh.

At first, Irvine stared up at him wide-eyed and nervous, a sort of a _who-are-you-and-what-have-you-done-with-Squall_ look on his face. Squall only laughed harder at his surprise and confusion, and then the dam broke inside of Irvine, and he, too, burst into laughter.

Just a few months ago, this kind of situation would have Squall angry and bristling, standing up and brushing himself off with some kind of cutting remark that would make it Irvine's fault.

Irvine gazed up at him in wonder - cheeks and nose pink with cold, eyes laughing with the rest of him, bruised and battered but trying something new and not caring if it made a bit of a fool of him - and he really had to wonder what he'd done in a past life to earn him this man.

Squall's laughter sunk into the warmth of another mouth when Irvine leaned up and kissed him, icy numb fingers sliding through his hair, soaking up the joy of that moment like sunshine, and Irvine vowed that this was one memory he would never allow to be eaten.

* * *

"You're going to _have _to buy me hot chocolate, now," Squall informed Irvine, his tone good-natured but with a touch of bitterness as he limped off the ice. Irvine followed at a safe distance, looking slightly guilty about Squall's injuries but still happy at having skated for the first time since he'd left Galbadia Garden when he had first met Squall.

"Darlin', I'll buy you the vending machine if we can do that again sometime."

Squall snorted. "How much hot chocolate do you think I can drink?"

Irvine placed a styrofoam cup underneath the tap and pushed the button to start the machine. "A good point," he agreed. "And there's another way of warming you up."

"I think I'm cold enough to try both methods," Squall replied, his lips curling into the barest hint of a smirk as he filled his own cup with the frothy, sweet drink. "It can't hurt, can it?"

"Oh, darlin', you can never go wrong with the good old-fashioned method of sharing body heat." Irvine wrapped an arm around Squall's waist from behind, press smiling lips to the back of Squall's icy neck and letting his breath warm the numbed skin.

"Actually, I don't know," Squall said all-too-innocently after taking a sip from the styrofoam cup. "This is really good hot chocolate. I'm warming up already. Are you sure I really need more heat?"

Irvine chuckled. "Too warm, are you?" Without warning he darted to the side, scooped a handful of snow from the enormous pile shaved off the ice by the zamboni, and crushed it against the back of Squall's neck, letting the cold water trickle down his shirt. Squall yelped in a way that he would deny later and whirled, grabbing his own snowball and crushing it over the top of Irvine's head, which was without its usual cowboy hat. Water ran down Irvine's shocked face, and Squall snickered.

"Well, now we _both_ need warming up," Irvine pointed out, recovering with considerable dignity for a man who wore a cap of ice and snow.

"Hedonist," Squall muttered affectionately, but he didn't protest when Irvine tugged him close and kissed him again, deep and slow, with a hunger to it that started a fire somewhere within Squall's frozen body.

"You wouldn't have it any other way," Irvine murmured when he pulled away just enough to speak. His breath smelled sweetly of chocolate and his lips brushed Squall's with every word. Squall paused, considered, and then threw caution to the wind.

"There's got to be an empty guest room around here somewhere..."


End file.
